PFC Chapter 4547 The Day of Brightest Day (6)
Chapter 4547 The Day of Brightest Day (6)
Chapter 4547 The Day of Brightest Light (Part 6)
"The revolver is a very reliable weapon. It rarely jams, is not affected by the weak wrist effect, and can be equipped with large-caliber bullets. Its stopping power and lethality are both excellent. The only problem is that it makes too much noise and flash when fired, making it unsuitable for stealth operations."
The man sitting at the table held a Colt Python in his hand. It was a rather beautiful revolver, loaded with .357 Magnum bullets, and through the cylinder, one could see the rather large bullets that truly lived up to their name.
“Whatever you like.” Diana Prince, sitting across from him, sized up the man. He was wearing a fitted tactical uniform, looked thin but powerful, and spoke of firearms in an overly flippant tone—proving he was an old hand, but lacked respect for lethal force, or perhaps he didn’t consider firearms his most lethal weapon.
“I had the pleasure of meeting that professor once,” Diana said. “You are very different from him. I know you must each have your own legendary stories. But now, Mr. Rodriguez, we need you to leave for Egypt immediately. A French arms dealer named Hessinger has taken a crucial artifact from the Metropolitan Museum of Art, which holds the secrets of the person we are looking for.”
The pistol was gently placed on the table. Those sharp gray eyes lifted, fixed on Diana, and then said, "Losing Batman has completely dulled your senses. If that thing is so important, why was it taken by an outsider arms dealer?"
"In terms of cultural value, it is not priceless. The Metropolitan Museum of Art has a series of complex cultural relic protection and restitution agreements with France and many small African countries, which is beyond my control."
"But you want to take it back by illegal means."
“Whether the methods are illegal depends on who I’m dealing with,” Diana said, leaning back as she looked at him. “If you can’t make everything appear morally and legally compliant, then don’t look.”
"Are you talking about yourself?"
“Not just, sir. Be quick and light, and end it all before it’s too late. I can tell you’re good at this.”
With a click, a bullet was loaded into the revolver. When the revolver was spinning, you could hear the wind whistling through the air; and the moment it stopped, the whole room fell silent.
The man stood up, looked down at Diana, and said, "You've come to me to solve this problem, which is like asking a snake to bite its own tail. You'll understand that this isn't a good idea, madam."
“The plane to Cairo takes off in an hour and a half. Have a safe journey, sir,” Diana simply said.
After the man walked out the door, Diana let out a long sigh. She knew perfectly well how things had turned out this way, but she was powerless to change it.
The collapse happened far too quickly: from the strange energy flow in the lamplight left by Batman, to the sudden anomaly in the ancient Egyptian mural, to the artifact transfer agreement signed at some unknown time, and the cunning French arms dealer Hessinger. By the time the "Snake of Frigan" embarked on its journey to Egypt, it was already too late.
Although Diana was anxious, she wasn't crazy enough to hijack the plane. She had to get that thing back because it could very well point to the first Genie that the multiverse was looking for.
It wasn't that she wanted to keep the secret, but rather that there would be no benefit in letting it out. Aside from the possibility that it might cause other Justice Leagues in the multiverse to lose trust in the main universe, the Black Death Emperor, lurking nearby, was not someone to be trifled with. Having finally obtained a lead, she absolutely couldn't afford any problems in the investigation.
Diana sat down again and rubbed her temples. She knew hiring Schiller was not a good choice. The main universe's Batman had repeatedly emphasized that even though he had a good personal relationship with the professor, he did not recommend that anyone in the Justice League contact him—anyone who contacted him.
The main universe's Wonder Woman doesn't have much interaction with Schiller. She's met him and knows him, but doesn't really understand him. The reason she was able to approach him is because the main universe's Batman had hired him before, and more than once. Diana obtained Schiller's contact information through Owen, the administrator of the Battleworld, and then hired this Schiller, whom Batman called "Agent of the Best."
Diana was not a stingy employer. She knew money was meaningless, so she specially asked her brother to forge a weapon perfectly suited to her—a Vulcan metal version of the Colt Python, equipped with 12 enchanted .357 Magnum bullets and an automatic retrieval function.
For ordinary people, this was an incredibly powerful weapon. Even the divine magic imbued upon it drew a questioning look from her brother, the god of fire. Diana knew he was probably worried that she was finally planning to kill Hera.
But she had no choice; that arms dealer named Hessinnag must have some mysterious force behind him. There were also many rumors surrounding Egypt. It would be irresponsible to let someone fight their way through there unarmed.
Diana looked out at the blue sky through the floor-to-ceiling windows. She had a premonition that this wasn't a coincidence. The Black Emperor wasn't without plans for the main universe; he was simply looking for the right opportunity to crush them in one fell swoop. Perhaps now was the perfect time.
On the Boeing 787 bound for Cairo, a flight attendant gently woke the man who was resting with his eyes closed, saying in a gentle tone, "Hello, sir, it's a pleasure to serve you. Here is the menu and wine list for this flight. What would you like?"
Schiller removed the magazine from his face, glanced at the menu, and said, "I'm not hungry. Could you please give me a glass of warm water?"
“Okay, sir, please wait a moment…” The flight attendant suddenly froze. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw another flight attendant with a gun pointed at her head in the aisle leading to the preparation room, while another man holding a long gun was standing in the middle of the aisle.
"Now everyone put down what you're holding, raise both hands over the back of your seats so I can see every finger. Flight attendants, come out of the preparation area, stand facing the overhead luggage racks, and place your hands on the nearest seat back. The purser repeats what I said."
All the flight attendants came out of the preparation room. Some of them were trembling violently, unsure of what to do with their hands. The chief flight attendant seemed a little more experienced, but she still trembled slightly when repeating what the other person had said.
“Very good. Pick up your walkie-talkie and repeat what I said to the cockpit: ‘The cabin is completely under their control. They are armed and well-equipped. Any rash action will result in death, so do not attempt to resist. Immediately maneuver the aircraft into the Strait of Tiran. They can use specialized equipment to assess the aircraft's movements, and there are their agents hidden among the passengers. Don't try anything funny.’”
The flight attendant repeated herself, her voice trembling. Her tone was slow, and she often forgot her words, but the other person wasn't angry at all. They even taught her sentence by sentence, showing great patience.
Schiller rested his hands on the back of the chair in front of him, allowing him to turn his head slightly, using his arms as cover. Through the reflection in the hairpin of the flight attendant who had just served him and was now standing beside him, he could vaguely make out the hijacker's features.
He was an unremarkable middle-aged man in a suit. The one with the pistol was taller and had a neatly trimmed beard; the one with the rifle was shorter but stronger. Other than that, there was nothing else to tell.
The Boeing 787-10 is a very spacious wide-body aircraft. Business class has two aisle rows with four rows of seats, arranged at an angle, with the outer two rows leaning outwards and the inner two rows leaning inwards. First class has two rows of eight seats. Schiller is seated in the second row on the far right. The hijacker is standing slightly forward of the boundary between business and economy class.
The flight wasn't crowded; the vast majority of passengers were in business class, with only the first few rows of economy class filled. Judging from the hijacker's position, it's easy to deduce that what he said was true—there must be other members of their group among the passengers. Otherwise, they would have been standing at the very back of the economy class, where everyone could see what was happening. Since they weren't there, it meant there were people from their group in economy class.
Within seconds, Schiller realized that the hijackers were highly professional. Their timing of appearance, their handling of the weapons, and the hijacking process were all meticulously executed. Most importantly, they requested to go to the Strait of Tiran, not an airport, suggesting they might be requesting a water landing. This is typically done to secure the safety of a key person on board.
Heading to a city or airport might be for a terrorist attack or to achieve some other goal. A forced landing at sea is different; a plane crash-landed at sea is an isolated island, and no rescue can arrive faster than a bullet. Even if they put in some effort to search, it would be enough to kill the target.
Could they be after him? Schiller rarely pondered such questions, because even if they weren't, the robbers usually wouldn't let him go. To experienced robbers, Schiller didn't look like an ordinary person. Once they sensed something was amiss, they wouldn't hesitate to kill another witness.
"Don't move." Schiller remained still and whispered to the flight attendant, "When I count to three, two, one, you lunge forward and cover your ears as much as possible. No matter what happens, don't get up."
"What are you trying to do, sir..." the flight attendant said anxiously, "You can't confront them head-on; it could kill everyone on the plane..."
“The forced landing won’t succeed,” Schiller said. “There’s definitely someone waiting for them in Egypt.”
The flight attendant trembled again, seemingly understanding Schiller's meaning. Every hijacking in this world is a disaster resulting from a complex interplay of factors. The fate of the plane is no longer in their hands, and may not even be in the hands of the hijackers.
"Three...two...one!"
"Bang!!!!!!"
The moment the revolver fired, the enormous sound and vibration nearly ignited the cabin. Until the very last second before pulling the trigger, Schiller didn't realize just how powerful this modified revolver was—the flames that erupted were half a meter long, and the deafening gunshots that echoed continuously in the enclosed cabin caused blood to flow from Schiller's ears instantly, leaving him dizzy for at least a second.
The gun in his hand trembled; the retrieval-enabled bullet had already flown back into the barrel. Schiller staggered as he stood up, certain that his eardrums hadn't survived. The good news was that the lower halves of the two robbers had been ejected. The bad news was that everyone looked at him with more terror than at the robbers.
"Damn it," Schiller cursed inwardly. He shouldn't have believed that a demigod from Mount Olympus could have any correct understanding of human weapons—the only difference between this thing and a tank cannon is that a tank cannon isn't this flexible.